It took the rest of the afternoon, a night under the stars, and a few hours the following morning, but the companions eventually reached the bleak and quiet Ganse. Having to move at an incredibly slow pace, often stopping to rest as they hauled their spoils, while being ever vigilant for possible thieves and of course, other bandits, the companions allowed themselves a few smiles when the dingy, nearly abandoned, mining town’s walls, were once again before them.

After a few minutes walk the adventurers came upon a bizarre scene, some mad god’s idea of a settlement! It took a few minutes for their senses to adjust, and finally they realized what they had come upon. The signpost nailed to a particularly tall laurel stump helped as well.

“Come witness the Dragon-Child!! The World’s Biggest Dwarf!! Lady Stick!! The Fire-Eater!! The Four-Legged Girl!! The Pickled Punks!! Hanging Kang!! The Living Ghoul!! Vallace the Whipmaster!! The Poisonous Boy!! The Centaur Princess!!

“Many Other Oddities, Curiosities, Horrors, and Wonders of Distant and Exotic Lands!!”

The sign seemed a bit amateurish, as if it was put up not by the proprietors of the traveling troupe, but by some local in his or her excitement.

The companions gazed upon the chaotic scene before them. Stretching along the normally featureless field surrounding the approach to Ganse, nestled like a noose around the town, was what appeared to be another town, though not a permanent one. Wagons, carts and tents took the place of houses and homes. Everything seemed temporary. From a distance, the caravan trains and jumbled stalls lining the huge meadow looked like fattened, lazing caterpillars to the companions. The whole place in fact seemed pregnant with anticipation.

It was late morning. As the companions made their way among the gypsies and their endless stalls, they noticed that half the folk were only stirring now, shaking off hangovers and worse ailments from the previous night. The other half, the carnies and merchants, seemed to be preparing, rushing around in frenetic states, setting up stalls, wheeling strange cages, readying small arenas for gaming and competition, and otherwise engaging in organizing and arranging everything for the evening’s coming festivities. There was even what looked like a huge, mobile inn, constructed to resemble a sea going vessel on wheels! The Landlubber, the sign read as the companions walked by.

All in all, there seemed to be more people outside the town walls, then the companions ever remembered there being inside the decrepit town.

Talia was unsurprised. She had even met Qil’Vanaros once, when Konos had introduced her to the quarrelsome elf many years ago. In fact, Talia knew this life well. Traveling the Hills of Holubuska, trading goods, and occasionally entertaining the local hill-folk, who were made up of dozens of xenophobic tribes, normally hidden among their beloved forested hills, but crawling out of the woodworks, for the most famous caravan of all, The Endless Dream Journey. Ganse was the last stop on the “western leg” of their annual migration. This was the last and best troupe of the season. Soon, winter would come to Ganse.

The good news, Vee thought as he stared upon the weird convention sprawled out before him, was that he would probably have little trouble unloading some of the companions spoils here. Barter and trade would be alive and well in a place like this!

Vorodon wasn’t sure what to make of this. He was still uncomfortable among all these new “friends”, and now this. Would he be welcome here? The half-ogre pondered, and hoped to find his kin among the town guard.

Tristan looked upon the scene with some disapproval, the familiar grimace surfacing on his face. A den of iniquity, wonton pleasure, perverse entertainment, and no doubt thievery, he thought as he walked.

Moruz was silent. He needed to rest. All the holy healing under the sun and moons, could not take the place of a long deep sleep right now, the Ouzquin Dremorix thought, as he kept one vigilant eye on anyone and everyone approaching the group, or staring at the chests too long. Two particular individuals had stared longer and harder than Moruz would have liked. He made mental note of both, a blonde-bearded dwarf, and an exotic, clean-shaven man, with bright crimson paint decorating his spooky, olive-toned, vulture-like face.

Dujek and Kadarin were quiet for a moment, Kadarin busy calming down Mouse, who seemed anxious and frightened at seeing such a large group of people, while Dujek kept peppering Koschei with telepathic questions but only receiving gibberish and mockery in response from the weird little lizard. Apparently, it had been in a foul mood the past two days.

Eventually the band of bandit-slayers reached the town proper. Many locals and gypsies had stared, wide-eyed, at the chests the group was hauling as they were making their way, somewhat comically, along the thoroughfare. None stopped or hindered them however, though Vee smirked and mentioned that every thief west of Nimz must have heard of the “Company of the Treasured Chests” by now. The gates were open (Aerex liked to think it was especially for him and his posse), and they had finally returned to where it all began for them, nary a week ago.

The first order of business on everyone’s agenda, the one plan they could all agree upon, was that they all needed sleep, lots of it. Their bodies and minds needed rest. It wasn’t long before they found themselves in the grimy, upstairs rooms of the newly refurbished Harpy’s Kettle. The following morning the companions met in the common room, rested and anxious to unload their loot. Kadarin was consulted, and announced to the gathered that he would need pricey gems, one for every item the companions suspected may be magical. Aerex meanwhile, had asked the new barkeep, one Blodrus the Lame, for several large sacks the previous night, and was now sitting in the taproom with two stuffed sacks of bandit heads. By Jantir’s Legions! He would enjoy delivering the heads to the city guards.

Glordren and Jjuldae had struck a strange bond. The two mismatched travelers had meandered along with the Endless Dream Journey caravans west, finding themselves on the outskirts of some misbegotten town called Ganse, where Qil’Vanaros’ carnies and the thronging mob of merchants, traders, and groupies that followed them set up camp once more, outside the city walls. Whatever was following Jjuldae had not yet confronted the druid, and despite the dwarf’s occasional urging, Jjuldae knew that turning the tables on some wild, demonic beast, among the hills and forests that made up its element, hunting the hunter so to speak, would prove imprudent. It was this thought, among others, which allowed Glordren to at least convince the druid to accompany him on a visit to Ganse, though the dwarf could tell that the druid loathed urban sprawls and the “swine-herds” which dwelt inside its walls. At least whatever was following him, Glordren reasoned to Jjuldae, would probably not be so bold as to attempt some sort of murderous attack inside the walls. Glordren was not himself sure of his own reasoning, but had his own motives for traveling to Ganse. It was north of Ganse, only a week’s travel, where the mountains rose up. Hidden among the peaks of the Great Escarpment would be the legendary and fearsome Waterfall of Madness. And somewhere below it, according to his Akhanag-Marato scroll, was marked the ancient dwarven temple-tomb Glordren wished to explore. Ganse would be a good stop. Glordren had heard of the far-off town. It was once a mining metropolis, phosphorus mainly, but all kinds of alloys and oddities came from the honeycombed badlands west of the town. A decade ago, all operations had ceased due to some great calamity and subsequent explosion. The countless mines closed, thousands of folk moved away, and Ganse was now a town in decline.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Despite the rank odor, Aerex cheerfully whistled down the dusty lanes of Ganse toward the guard quarters with the two sacks over his shoulder. The streets were notedly busier with the gypsy encampment surrounding Ganse, and the reeking sacks of crania turned many heads. The inspector smirked despite himself.

He rounded a corner and stuck his head on the guard office's door. "Oh Captain!" he called happily. "I want you to meet a few friends of mine..."

Jjuldae wandered amongst the tents of the carnival-city, allowing crowds of overawed Ganseigi and askance-looking carnies to fold around him in eddies of humanity, as if he were the black-cloaked prow of a great ship. The druid had always relied upon his natural aura, both of menace and of wonder, to impress those of the settled people- this skill was one of the first taught to men of the brotherhood.

There had been much talk lately of the so-called "Company of the Treasured Chest", who had lugged in huge cases full of wealth through the main gate earlier in the week. Jjuldae, wandering with Glordren (who seemed to delight in the perversions of natural law which settled folk exhibited in this great swine-pit called a festival), had seen this Company for himself, and was impressed, if not by their seeming competence and ability, by the sense of sheer destiny about them, as if they had each been born to a great geasa which led them all by the nose like a sacrificial bull. Perhaps to glory that their successes seemed to suggest. Perhaps to an ignominious death. Who knew what the Old Gods, in their unfathomable ways, had planned for this association of strangers.Though it would be heresy to say so, Jjuldae felt a very strong desire to discover what the Old Gods had ordained.

But where was Glordren?Jjuldae's mind misgave him. Something was wrong here. The dwarf had been nearby or by his side for the past week. Yet upon the druid's awakening, the mountain child had been missing, his things taken with him.Jjuldae thought of the sinister teratoma which he had hunted and which had hunted him. Perhaps the settled people were not so good a charm to keep it away. Perhaps it had invaded the city. Or perhaps not. The druid must examine all possibilities.

Overhearing the “insector’s” intention to visit the Captain of the Guard, Vorodon quietly prepared to tag along. His old comrade Bross had to be around there somewhere, and he could really use a familiar face. Bross owed Vorodon a good turn or two, and Vorodon wasn’t above reminding the old reprobate of the debt owed.

The sleepy town seemed to be full of strange people now, crowds of strangers staring at him, whispering when he passed, as if they thought he couldn’t hear or was too dim to understand. It made it almost impossible to keep up with Aerax’s quick steps. Belligerent fools seemed to deliberately cut the clumsy hulk off, then curse at him when he collided with them. The wound in his side and his maimed leg made everything much worse, as every unexpected move filled him with shooting pain.

By the time he arrived at the Guards’ quarters, he was thoroughly sorry he had ever considered finding his old friend. Aerax was well ahead of him, the behemoth’s leg had tripped him up repeatedly, and someone had lifted the small pouch that held most of his coin.

Talia had been wandering around town, trying to find Loiha, but she hadn't had any luck yet. She stopped by the gate, looking at the gypsy camp. She had never had a very high opinion of the Endless Dream; she'd gotten the impression that they were charatans, resorting to petty trickery with their freak show. Konos's many rants on the subject had merely soldified that opinion. But if you went far enough back, all the gypsy clans were kin. They were still family. Albeit distant and often feuding family. It wasn't impossible that Loiha had decided to join the Dream.

She headed into the midst of the gypsies. The first person who caught her eye, she assumed he was one of the carnies. He seemed sort of... wild. For some reason, Talia was reminded of the old forest that her caravan had stopped near every spring. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Loiha til Tolochis ni Konos. Has she joined this caravan?"

Moruz was tired.For the last few days, every time he had tried to lay his head down to sleep, his fractured nose gave sharp pains, keeping him up and only allowing him a couple hours of slumber each night. The last night was slightly less painful, though, and his face was feeling much better today. The glass shifter allowed himself a glance at his surroundings.He was outside the walls of Ganse and near the outskirts of the temporary town which had been set up. There were several stalls about him, in various stages of construction; one merchant was completely set up and was shouting glory to the splendour of the ceramic and glass figurines he had on display. Moruz had already surveyed the items and decided the glass craftings were mediocre at best, but if this merchant thought his wares were of such high quality, perhaps he would be willing to buy that glass pegasus at a high price.

The glass shifter was seated cross-legged beneath a sickly-looking tree, and was busily working on his Laurel Ouzala; chipping out the splinters and nocks that it had gained during the last few days and coating it with an application of wax. His weapon now only had a dozen or so teeth in it, and Moruz was at a loss as where to obtain more: He was certain that there would be next to no place outside of the deserts that would trade in glass teeth, and there would be nowhere in a hundred miles wherein he could make more.No doubt half of the adventurers-upon-return were roaming the tents and stalls, selling, trading and buying with the treasure they had obtained. As for Moruz, he wasn't one for pricing valuables, so he did not much care to take part in that game. So long as he got some sort of a share of the profits, he was happy.

A short way in front of him, Moruz spied a painted man - the same that had given the group and their chests a deliberate stare as they first re-entered the town - wandering among the tents. A faint smile curled upon the glass shifter's lips - that outsider made himself seem more normal by comparison to the commoners. Before long Talia appeared and said something to that imposing figure. The Ouzquin Dremorix gave them little more than a cursory glance before setting his Ouzala to one side and plucking a silver-handled sickle from his belt; the one found from the large group of gnolls. The warrior had been considering practicing with this for some time; at the very least, it would be useful as a backup in case his Ouzala lost too many teeth.

Kadarin knew too much about what spectacles like the Qil’Vanaros circus were really for. He had used them himself in younger days. With the excitement of the exibits, the games, and the free-flowing ale, it was a cut-purse's dream.

He had wondered at the time why his uncle had brought so many of his dock-workers along when they once went to the circus as a 'family outing'. many years ago. Apparently he was mixing business with pleasure, as his uncle and three of the largest dock-workers went and paid a visit to the head of the carnies. Kadarin did not see what happened next, as he was hustled off to see the grotesque oddities in another tent. When he saw his uncle again, his uncle had bruised knuckles and a bag of coin.

Yes, he knew what carnivals were for...

Later on, once the companions had settled into the inn, Kadarin examined the scroll and potions. With his alchemy training recalled he looked carefully at each bottle. He had requested pen and ink from the innkeeper and began to record his notes as he examined the items..

Vee was frequently in and out of the room at the Harpy, each time moving a small amount of goods, the candelabras on one trip, another vanishing with the masterwork painting. Using his charm and glib tongue he was moving through the 'better' parts of Ganse, if such a thing could be said, to liquidate much of the non-coin loot as possible. He even paid a visit to the miser Skreep to see about exchanging some of the Bandit garnets and possibly some gold pieces to acquire the certain gems required by Kadarin for his magics. He hoped Skreep might have them, and not hold a grudge over the incident a few days ago.

All the while he was keeping his eyes open for the small notches that some theives guilds would cut into posts and buildings to let other thieves know where they were. It was pretty common in a place as large as Nimz, with there being an entire language of notches, some could be warnings, claims of territory, anything that could be written shortly without drawing too much attention. He wanted to find the guild mostly because they might be able to help turn some of the goods he had into coin as well as getting in a bit better with them. Never know what some of those old half retired bosses had tucked away under the floorboards.

Tristan spent an hour within the Chapel of the local Triguian Church, giving thanks to his Lord and Master for the group's survival in the face of perilous odds and asking for his Hand of Protection on the party. After completing his prayers, he headed towards the chapter's small library. He had checked the various books therein, but had already read most of them whilst under the guiding hand of his mentor. However, there was a tome or two that was new to his eye, but he hadn't had the time to read them: On the Nature of Divinity and Conduit of Holy Light. One was quite thick, probably taking a week to read at minimum, but Conduit seemed thin enough for him to read in his spare time.

After consulting with his fellow priest, he returned to his inn room and gathered a few of the religious articles he had taken from the treasure store to trade with the other cleric for the book. Every church occasionally needed new impliments, and the censers he had found were more than worth the cost of the book. Intrigued with the small bits he had read already, he ventured back to the room and began reading.

"Amongst other things, a priest must consider the ramifications of..."

--Aerex and Vorodon entered the barracks, but found the place nearly empty. The guard who let them in, (raising an eyebrow at the Volgottor while recognizing Aerex from his last visit) quickly explained that most of the guards had been deployed outside the walls, to keep the inevitable crime from overwhelming the throngs of “honest folk” who had come out to enjoy the festivities of the carnival. The captain was not around; in fact nearly all of the guards were absent. Luckily for Aerex, the man in charge of bounties was present. Hepple Farax, the captain’s liuetenent, a man with a lame, withered leg, gaped at the heads rolling out of the sacks with unabashed glee and awe.

“Is that—is that Jervoe?” he asked rhetorically, while gingerly picking up the head of the feared bandit leader, and staring at it, as if he was expecting Jervoe to open his eyes at any moment.

While Aerex gloated in praise and answered various questions Farax was peppering him with, Vorodon noticed an attractive, flaxen-haired woman sitting in the antechamber of the barracks and could not help but cast glances repeatedly at the beautiful woman. She was sitting on a chair, back straight, hands at her sides, staring straight ahead, but occasionally cocking her ear at Aerex’s tales.

When all was said and done, Farax doled out gold coins to the investigator in a wooden lockbox, a certificate of proof, and even presented Aerex with a dusty, silver medal of honor on a chain, signifying a service done above and beyond expectations. Though the city-guard certainly didn’t hire Aerex to wipe out Jervoe’s gang, they were nonetheless grateful. After all, when Aerex was long gone, they would take the credit for it anyway. Farax shook Aerex’ hand and bid him return on the morrow, when Captain Koli and the other senior guards would toast him anew! The medal he received now identified him as a permanent “honorary sergeant” of the Gansian Guard.

Vorodon received sad news however, when Farax informed the hulking half-ogre that his “friend”, an equally massive, but kind-hearted city guardsman, was away and feared dead, for he had volunteered to guide a rare, visiting dignitary of the Empire and his retinue north to the Great Escarpment. He was feared dead, because he should have been back weeks ago.

“Wanna take his place?” Farax asked tactlessly, as Aerex and Vorodon turned to go.

On the way out, Vorodon could not help but walk adjacent to the seated, silent woman. He noticed that her eyes were milky and glazed. She was blind! Just as the huge brute was about to pass her, she extended a silken hand, and touched his arm as she rose from her chair.

“Honorable sir”, she addressed Vorodon “Would you see me home? I live not far from here". She lowered her voice and whispered, “I was nearly raped this morning and am loathe to walk alone.”

<<<After some haggling back and forth, and since Ganse’ city guard coffers have only so much gold to offer at any given time, even for the Empire’s enemies brought to justice, Aerex netted 185 gp in all, shortchanged according to his registry by a few dozen coins, but still more gold than he had seen in quite some time>>>

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Dujek and Kadarin rolled up their sleeves and went to 'work'. They soon realized however that examining "items of arcana" was best done in private and absconded to a room upstairs. As Dujek detected for magic, Kadarin began carefully examining the selected items, and recording meticulous notes. Even Koschei got in on the action, telepathically giving advice to the necromancer, as it crawled between and around the various items laid out on the table. The lizard even predicted that soon, Master Dujek’s power would wax! It could sense it, the plumed basilisk claimed.

What most excited Kadarin however, was that once again, with Mouse sipping milk nearby, the young mage was able to cast spells without the aid of his spell book or any of his material components! This revelation alone amazed and confounded Kadarin to no end! How was this possible?

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Bross was missing and they thought he might be dead? The thought ate at the massive warrior’s mind. Worse than that, they said he had volunteered! Bross knew better that that! It was he that had first taught Vorodon that volunteering gets people killed; that they only ask you to volunteer when they don’t want to feel bad that you ended up with a spear through your guts. Worst of all, Bross had volunteered to escort Imperials! What could have possessed him to travel with folk like that? The Imperials that the lumbering warrior had met were invariably pompous fools who treated anyone from out in the provinces like they were simpletons. Their arrogance was sure to lead anyone around them to their death! It made his head hurt, thinking about it.

As Vorodon tried to leave, he felt the gentle touch of the beautiful, ethereal woman. She claimed to need help. He tried to sense whether she was being honest with him, but her blind eyes defied his ability to read them. The beautiful woman needed help, but Vorodon had learned long ago that any beautiful woman was nothing but trouble. There was nothing to be done about it; he’d have to risk it.

“Lady, Vorodon no talk to common good, with can help you! Me bring you for to home all safe! Nobody mess Vorodon around!” It was a shame that she couldn’t see his broad smile, the yellowed, tusk-like fangs he’d inherited from Papa. Then she’d know that he would be a formidable guardian. “Insecter, you es’cortt with?”

And yet, he wasn’t done here. The thought of Bross, lost or killed in the wilderness, haunted him. Volunteering AND Imperials! It was a recipe for disaster, plain and simple. Despite that, Vorodon felt a strange feeling of responsibility touch him, a memory from his time in the Army: Never leave a buddy behind.

Voro paused in the doorway. He had to know more about what happened to Bross. Turning to the crippled lieutenant, Vorodon asked, “The Immerial Dignittery, where were he to go? Why for to go to Greet Cliffs? There nothing AT Cliffs. I like to follow, find friend Bross. Good?”

There were some heroes in town, adventurers without peer, as it was said. With the amount of superlatives Glordren had heard from the comedians besieging the town, he certainly was not going to believe every word he heard, but then, where else to find capable allies? The local inns seemed to be frequented just by big-mouthed fools and jesters, and the townsfolk were not going to leave the relative safety of the city premises.

Strolling around town, he almost bumped into a slender officer in a wide-brimmed hat, followed by his humongous... right hand? The giantkin bore the marks of several grievous wounds. Looked like the humans of this town were like so many others, letting the 'others' handle dangerous situations. Well, Glordren wasn't opposed to a little danger as long as he didn't get actively backstabbed.

"Hello, good officer!" Glordren patted the human on the shoulder. "The town is boiling with talk about a band of valiant heroes, fearless and noble. Would you mind directing me towards them, so I may offer accolade and a honest pat on the shoulder, hear a few tales and discuss a few matters with them?"

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

Aerex turned and looked down to see the bearded cleric. He smiled broadly. "My friend, you're asking just the right man," he said, adjusting his newly acquired silver medal. "I am Investigator Aerex Matare, the... leader of this squadron. I was just taking care of some legal matters in our dealing with Jervoe's Tribe. Fortunately for the public, he and his ilk are gone from this plane of existance, off to whatever hell they belong. I think I can speak for our group in saying we'd be happy to speak with you." He extended his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, sir...?"

The next three days were magical, in more ways then one. Working with a large collection of items his first time using the Identify ritual for real was almost overwhelming. Not for the first time, though, he wondered who devised these rituals. The local fishmonger was dubious at first when Kadarin had asked for 3 live carp. It took some time to convince the merchant that his request was not a joke, and still longer to produce the needed fish.

Kadaring also wondered what the rest of the troop would have thought if they knew that he had to crush those expensive gemstones and then eat the dust (mixed with wine) and swallow the bloody fish live. He felt the da$%mn thing wiggle all the way down.

No matter. The secrets revealed to him by the magic was invaluable.

Valadaar started first with the wand. Knowing from his instructors that wands were often a mages best, and commonly only,friends, his attention was grabbed by this item.

Hmmm. Witchwood with three-toned finish. Small iron band at the more slender end, brass at the base. Whats this? The brass band has a small ring of chaos runes. Hmm, that seems familiar... Best use the ritual to make sure what it does....

The ritual caused the world to dissappear into the background and instead mildly mad images came forth. A large carp appeared, dressed outlandishly in odd satin black clothing. It requested that he comb his Hare. A rabbit appeared briefly then faded. A small cloud appeared over the carp's head - heavy rain and small glass lightning bolts began to rain down upon him. The cloud then changed color into a mass of colored circles and a mass of butterflies erupted from it, and then faded away.

Finally, after more of the mad images, an hourglass appeared, filled with large grains of sand, and only three grains, the size of sugarcubes, remained in the top portion of the glass. "Times up!" and the oddly dressed carp turned over the glass, and the scene faded, revealing Mouse and Dujek looking on.

"The Chaotic Wand of Astrachar", said Kadarin, "And I think it has but 3 uses yet."

What turned out to be an ioun stone had a far less spectacular vision. A swarm of alchemical symbols formed a rotating sphere around a stone bust. The symbol which stood out the greatest was the symbol of Iron, which could signify defence. Towards the end, it was even less subtle - it showed the stone itself rotating about the head of a shadowy figure. The figure was being set upon by white robed assaliants whose blows seemed turned away by some invisable force, the stone flashing with each attack.

"An ioun stone that protects from attack.."

The weapons radiated magic dimly and showed no greater powers then mildly enhanced prowess in battle.

--Vee spent the better part of two days making his way between the shops of Ganse proper, and the stalls of the mobile merchants of the Endless Dream Journey. His charm and the group’s sudden notoriety among the common folk, made his job that much easier. The one thing he didn’t find however, was any sign of an organized thieves guild. There were notches in the woodworks to be sure, one of the several secret tongues of the world’s thieves, but Vee soon realized they were old and long irrelevant. Maybe I will start one, Vee thought only half in jest.

So much gold and silver coin did the rogue acquire from selling all of the various bandit loot, that he had to go find a fellow Adventurer-Upon-Return that second day, in order help him carry it…and watch his flanks of course. He decided to visit the ship-on-wheels, The Landlubber Inn, to see if any members of his band were present. It was late afternoon and the inn would soon be filled.

The very first patron Keykold noticed was a huge, bald man, with a far-fetched, swirling, oiled mustache, threaded with silver rings and dyed purple. He was dressed in crass purple pantaloons and had an exquisite leather whip, coiled and hanging from his bull-neck. Ladies of dubious distinction, heavily made-up and smelling of strong, musky perfume were curled up on each arm of the colorful man. He was rearing his head back, showing his yellowed teeth, the rings in his mustache jingling. The ladies giggled on cue, and sipped their “afternoon’ wine”. Upon seeing Vee in the doorway the bald man spoke.

“Aren’t you a queer looking fellow with that hat!”, he roared in his normal voice, Vee suspected. Vallace the Whipmaster flashed an ear-to-ear grin, the ladies giggled, and for a moment Vallace’s eyes cast downwards, as if he was eyeing something directly under the table.

“Is that a whip me’boy? Did ya come to challenge Vallace or buy him a drink?”

--After a long moment of silence, the strange, olive-skinned man turned to look at Talia and parted his thin lips slightly, as if ready to finally speak, or so Talia assumed. She would not find out for the moment.

“Talia Bladedancer! You are alive and well! No, no, no need to explain, we have all heard by now. Talia the Bandit Slayer! Talia the Vengeful Wraith! Talia the Fearless! Eh? You are a bit of a celebrity among the caravans."

Loiha, hips swinging wildly came charging at Talia, emerging from a nearby crowd, a wide grin on her face.

“You did it, you have avenged us!” she whispered as she drew closer to the Talia and embraced her enthusiastically. “My Krait charm must have helped”, she smiled and winked.

“Meet Fando, my new husband” , Loiha gestured at a slight, nervous, mousy man, who had come up behind her. “Oh and I joined the Endless Dream Journey. A girl has to make ends meet. Let me introduce you to Loiha, Hex-Witch of Asshh’rahum”, she now gestured at herself. “For only ten silver, I can put a hex on whomever you wish”, she winked again.

“And who do we have here?”, she finally looked at the stolid crimson-painted stranger.

Loiha did not seem her normal somber self. Easily explained of course, Talia reasoned. “Konos’ Witch” was deep in her cups.

--Moruz had sold the glass merchant the green-tinted Pegasus easily enough. He even got an interesting lead from the rotund man. Apparently a collection of glass workers dwelled in the north, beyond the great escarpment. This must have been their work, the merchant explained to Moruz.

Later, as Moruz balanced the gnoll sickle and practiced with the curved, silver-handled blade, he noticed two things. The first was that the blade, in the afternoon sun, bore a strange glint. Upon further examination, Moruz realized that there was some silver tempered into the actual blade-steel as well, a strange weapon indeed.

The second thing the glass warrior noticed was that a tall, thin, brown-cloaked man, who by the looks of him was in quite a hurry, was hastening in a focused and purposeful way toward the Harpy’s Kettle. Moruz did not like the man’s aggressive stride.

--After many hours of quiet contemplation, study, and prayer, Tristan came down to the taproom. It was nearly empty. He approached the barkeep to ask him for a bowl of soup, some salt, and a crust of bread, when a tall man with an angular, unpleasant face, spoke to him. A longbow was slung across his chest and back, a thin longsword-in-scabbard hung at his waist.

“I seek a mage. Might ye know of one here, Triguian? A particularly loathsome mage, who doth do truck with the dead. Goes by the name "Doo-Jikk” I seek him. The man spoke in a cold, clipped manner.

At first Tristan quickly thought of Kadarin and Dujek, who were upstairs at the moment pouring over the magical finds of the companions. Somehow Tristan didn’t get the impression this man was looking for a love spell or some wizardly advice. He had the cold, dead stare of a fish.

--Vorodon sighed and accompanied the woman toward her home. The “Insecter” had stopped to talk to a blonde-bearded dwarf as soon as he heard praise thrown his way. Mountain Children and Volgottor never saw eye to eye, the half-ogre thought, and resigned to accompany the lady alone.

After a twenty-minute stroll, they neared a shanty two-story house, somewhere on a lonely, winding Gansian alleyway.

“Thank you. You are a kind soul. Can I offer you some squirrel stew and tea?” the young woman asked the Volgottor.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Jjuldae stared downward at the woman who had addressed him, but lapsed again into chill silence with the arrival of the husband and wife.When it seemed his turn to speak (the unsettled peoples have, of needs, great respect for the social courtesies and respects offered to others), he offered forth a deep-voiced reply:"I am called Jjuldae of the Crimson Throat, son of Ku'umaez, son of Drujjlae, and lately of the hills which you call Hoboluska. It appears that you," he said, addressing Talia, "have found the one you seek."But I would ask of you: are you not of the company which has so late created such a cricket-song among these settled folk, the company they call the 'Company of the Treasured Chest'?"

"Loiha! I've been looking for you!" In a lower voice, she said, "I've got something for you, I suppose I may as well call it your dowry. Three bolts of silk. There wasn't much left of what they took from us." Then she looked at Loiha's new husband. That was... fast. Still, it could only be for the good, and she was glad Loiha had found a new caravan. She bowed slightly to Fando. "A thousand joys to you both."

She turned to the stranger. "Yes, that is her, thank you. And yes, I suppose I am a member of said company." She made a mental note to smack whoever had come up with that ridiculous name. "Talia Bladedancer til Tolochis." She'd decided to stop using her full title; there was no Caravan ni Konos anymore. The caravan's home region was enough.

There were few things more comforting to Vee than the aroma of a busy taproom. The scent of tobacco smoke, or ale and wine, the distinct smell of people, sometimes the rank smell of a sweaty man ready to loose some coin in a game of dice to the rather peculiar smell of a woman, a strange mixture of perfumes, always sweet and flowery, and underneath a more musky carnal smell. He liked that.

“Is that a whip me’boy? Did ya come to challenge Vallace or buy him a drink?” Vallance bellowed.

"This thing? It is a whip, but I'd rather buy you a drink than face a challenge just yet." He said, "A bottle of fortified red, drop a shot of raw corn spirits into a bottle of wine and it's almost as good as grappa back in Nimz." Judging from his dress and garelous manner, this Vallance seemed a most interesting character, one who warranted getting to know better, at least for the time being.

"So," Vee said, launching into his well honed spiel, "Staring into the muzzle of a flind, like a gnoll but a bit shorter but certainly wider and a thing smarter too, and with him was Red Hatchet, Dwarven berzerker. He threw an axe and almost killed me with it, 'cept that his head is hanging up by the garrison and I've got the axe here on my belt." Vee grinned as the serving girl brought over a bottle of red and a shot of corn spirits, raw enough to bring tears to the eyes.

(OOC - assorted checks to gather information, and definately carousing, since it is one of his skills.)

<<OOC: Aye, Ria's correct, though I was confused at first, too. This is from Muro's post:

Quote

“Is that a whip me’boy? Did ya come to challenge Vallace or buy him a drink?”

--After a long moment of silence, the strange, olive-skinned man turned to look at Talia and parted his thin lips slightly, as if ready to finally speak, or so Talia assumed. She would not find out for the moment.

The 'strange, olive-skinned man' is Jjuldae, and that was a change of scene between those two paragraphs :p>>

Glass workers to the north, hm? If he could get there, Moruz may be able to manufacture a fair amount of barbs for his Ouzala - enough to keep him out of trouble for a while, anyway. North seemed as good a direction to travel as any at the moment; he wondered if any of the others of the 'company of the treasured chest' would be willing to travel north. No matter; there was no rush. Moruz began walking back to the Harpy's Kettle whilst examining the strange silver-laid sickle. Perhaps Vee had sold the goods and had a share of coins for him. Before long, the glass shifter noticed a tall, thin man walking in front of him; the man's forceful pace caught Moruz's attention, and it soon became apparant that the brown-cloaked person was heading for the same establishment as himself. For some reason, Moruz felt slightly unsettled by this man, and he quickened his pace to match him as they walked to the Harpy's kettle.

"Ah, so one of the heroes ye be! Who said it takes tall folk to brew deeds most heroic! This is just golden! Glordren Blarchtmir I be, son of Nromdar. I hail from the abundant halls of Bornurk Nardru, or, more exactly, the High Temple of the Golden Sun, until the scum who took our homes are evicted, forcibly so. Let me shake your paw!"

After pumping the inspector's right, Glordren twirled up his moustache (it sure hung disheartedly just by the sides of his mouth due to the lousy weather) and continued: "I must congratulate you, you sure did precious, from what I heard - Jervoe and his scum were not unknown where I hail from, robbing honest traders. For see, me and my brothers often support merchants with counsel, blessing and protection." Seeing the question written all over the inspector's face, the dwarf patted the sun-ridged book-and-serpent symbol on his shield, and pointed to the one on his mace, explaining in a proud, merry voice: "I serve the Shining Lady, Emrissa the Golden, one who's more precious than all the gems - a patron of honest-dealing people she be, divine if I ever saw one!"

Having explained this, Glordren stared at the weeping skies: "Still, I doubt she will bless us with her golden eye today. Show me the rest of your band too, if you will, somewhere warmer and drier - what do you say, maester Matare?"

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

"Gladly, Sir Blarchtmir," Aerex replied. "I believe a few of them are hanging around the Harpy's Kettle. We had a bit of an adventure there, too, but I'll save the tale for when we're all together." He turned and walked down toward the tavern, trusting that Vorodon was watching after the blind woman.

"So, a cleric then? Another serves in our ranks, a certain Brother Tristan. Priest of Trigu, he is. Another was with us, too," he recalled with a sigh, "but he fell in the fight. Brother Aethelstan, a Senrenite, may his patron keep him." Aerex felt a twinge of guilt having left Aethelstan's body unsettled and in such haste. They would have to return soon to make amends. "Two mages are with us as well, along with a gypsy woman and a foreign warrior - an Ouzquin, he's called. Oh, and there's a thief, though I believe I may be turning him from his ways. And I suppose that Volgotor is with us now, too." He glanced at Glorden and chuckled at himself. "I'm sorry, I'm babbling on. Tell me, what brings you to tiny Ganse?"

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p